The Spider's Shield
by Kurohane Ookami
Summary: It only takes one botched mission for Natasha to lose Clint. Now, she's being cooped up under the scrutiny of everyone she'd rather avoid, with so many emotions that she doesn't quite know how to cope with, and nowhere to turn. But somehow, the all too personal, prying Captain manages to get past her defenses, and she's not all sure if she'll be able to cope. Post Avengers.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, I'd just like to say a major Happy Birthday to one of my lovely ladies! I hope you enjoyed it while you could because here comes a hell of a lot of pain and hurt and angst. Just like you asked for. Maybe not in the way that I interpreted it, but ah well.**

**Warning: **Character Death, Angst, Darker Themes.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah. I don't own Avengers.

**-;-**

"Nat."

There was a knock on the door, and then a blond headed man stuck his nose into the room cautiously, realizing full well that given the lack of light, he could potentially be in quite a bit of danger.

"Nat…."

"Barton, I swear to God." The crimson haired woman moaned beneath her sheets, shifting just enough so that the other assassin could see the narrowed slits that she had for eyes. "You call me that one more time and your intestines are going to be used as Christmas decorations."

The archer shrugged, holding up his hands in a sign of peace, even as the slightest of smirks threatened to take over his face. "Easy, Widow. Just came in to tell you that we just got new marching orders. Korea."

The redhead sighed, and a moment later Natasha was pulling on a pair of slimming black jeans and a loose grey shirt over the sports bra and boxer style underwear. She didn't bother doing anything with her hair, given that it was curly as it was and would most likely do its own thing anyway, so she simply ran a hand through it as she grabbed her boots and pulled them on.

Clint stood by, leaning against the door frame and admiring the rather nice view while he could. After all, the two of them were going to be in their usual distant roles in a matter of hours- no time for screwing around when it could mean that one of them could die.

"Any information on the target?" Natasha asked coolly, flipping her hair back up and out of her face as she stood, pulling the sheets neatly back up the way that they'd been found.

"Nope. Briefing's on the flight over." The archer replied with a shrug.

"Of course it is." The redhead muttered. "You put the knives back in my bag last night?"

"Of course." Clint said, sounding mildly offended. "I'm an idiot, not suicidal. Why would I ever forget your knives when I know what would happen to me later?"

Natasha said nothing, though it looked as though she wanted to say something less than pleasant on the subject, and instead glanced over the room once before flicking her wrist towards the door in order to herd the archer out. He did so with little fuss, and she followed, closing the door behind her.

The rest of their temporary home was bare. The only thing that possibly hinted at them even being there were the two well-sized bags laying in front of the large window overlooking the city, both of which were packed and ready to go.

"So, bets?" the blond asked casually, bending down to pick up their bags, tossing the redhead's over to her with practiced ease.

It was something of a running joke to them, making bets on how the mission would go. See if they could guess what was going to be in store before briefings. Clint, surprisingly enough, was the one who had won the majority of them so far, though the numbers that separated the feat were few.

"Well, short notice, possibly a gang or a branch of the mafia given that we're being briefed on the way." Natasha said, hauling her bag over her shoulder. "Either that or protection detail."

"I'm thinking protection detail with a fairly reasonable chance at a public threat to said person, who could be from a well off company or family." Clint countered, adjusting his own bag. "You good?"

"Yep. Let's go." The redhead replied calmly, moving over to the window and pulling it open before climbing out onto the fire escape and disappearing from sight. Clint sighed, realizing that he was the one who had to close the window this time, before following suit, pressing down carefully and listening for the click as the pane of glass settled into place. That done, he leaned over the rather unsteady railing and looked for Natasha. Of course, she was already halfway to the ground, and they were about thirty stories up, give or take.

Judging the distance and the degree that he would have to shift if he were to jump, the archer decided against it and instead took off down the stairs, using his agility to swing from the bars to the outside of the stairs, easily descending down the rather high height with little discomfort. Honestly, he preferred height. There wasn't quite anything like it, really. The only thing that could make his love of heights any better were if he were out in the middle of nowhere, perched somewhere where he knew no one would be able to touch him with his bow as his only company.

As soon as he'd leapt, it was over, and his feet hit the ground softly in the back alley that the fire escape backed out onto. Natasha was already mounting her black motorcycle, helmet firmly in place and bag slung over her shoulder and across her ribs so that there would be little resistance from the wind, and as he stretched, she gestured with her hand to the other bike. Clint didn't need to see behind the tinted helmet to know that she was furrowing her brows in slight irritation at his lack of urgency, but then again, that was just the way that the redheaded assassin was.

Sauntering over to his bike, Clint pulled on his helmet and quickly revved up the black beauty, taking off past Natasha and knowing that the woman would follow him until she deemed it necessary to pass him. Which would probably be as soon as they hit an open stretch of road. Which, surprisingly enough, wasn't all that hard to find if one knew where to look.

There was silence in the helmet, save for the faint rumbling of the wind as the pair sped through the streets of God knew what city they'd settled into for the time being. Somewhere in India- they knew that much. After a while everything just blended together, becoming nothing but another plane ticket, another temporary home, another something. To anyone else, it would seem like a hell for them to give up everything at the drop of a hat and migrate somewhere else, but to the pair of assassins, it was something that they'd been raised to be numb towards. And it worked; to an extent. Natasha had no problems, of course, seeing as it was driven into her so heavily for so long, but as for Clint…

He liked seeing all the new places, and he occasionally got attached to one place more than another. Several times, he'd commented upon it to Natasha, to which the redhead only snorted and continued to sharpen her knives. Not that it really managed to get to him- Clint didn't take many things to heart, and Natasha and her mannerisms were as always, exempt.

Speaking of the redhead…

Clint swerved to dodge a possible accidental move from Natasha as she pulled ahead of him in a burst of speed, but as she turned to glance over her shoulder at him, Clint knew that it had been very much purposeful. Mind, it wasn't like he was about to retaliate. Like he'd said before and would be saying for a good long time; he was an idiot. He wasn't suicidal.

-;-

"Told you so." Clint said smugly as the pair descended the ramp onto the runway in Korea, bag in hand. As he'd thought, there had been a public threat to a rather high up family, and they were being called in for protection against said threat. The only thing was, no one knew who they were. Their descriptions had been changed for their own protection, and on the way over, Natasha had been given a brunette wig that fell to her ribs and blue contacts to wear while they were on duty. Clint, on the other hand, had simply been given different glasses and a suit to change into, to which the male had made a rather unpleasant face before changing into it. Luckily, it was looser than the standard suit, so he could actually move around and store smaller weaponry in the many pockets.

"Your point being?" Natasha asked, one hand raising to shield her eyes from the sun, looking for their ride.

"You owe me twenty." Clint replied smugly, adjusting his tie so that it was straight against his collarbone.

"It can wait."

"Of course. But I still won."

"You're such a child."

"And yet we've made it all these years." The archer teased, brushing against the redhead's shoulder as they came closer to the large and private building.

"Excuse me? Are you Agents Duncan and Finch?" a smooth baritone asked suddenly, almost causing Natasha to lash out with one of the knives hidden in the sleeve of her blouse and most likely take out something like a major artery. Clint, on the other hand, had simply stiffened before relaxing, and was the first to recover from the mild shock.

"Yes. I'm Agent Duncan, my partner is Agent Finch. I understand that you've asked for our help?"

"Yes. I'm Alan Bridge. I understand you both have been briefed on the flight over?" the larger man asked, his moustache moving ever so slightly as he spoke. Clint took him in, deciding several moments later that he wasn't a threat and nudging Natasha subtly to get the point across.

"Of course. If you wouldn't mind, we'd like to get down to business. We take our jobs very seriously." Natasha said briskly, tucking the briefcase she'd been issued under one arm and shifting her weight onto one hip.

"Of course, ma'am. Right this way. The client has sent a vehicle." Alan said graciously, moving to one side and motioning towards what appeared to be a Ferrari of some kind that the pair of agents knew probably wouldn't hold up well in the long run if there was any kind of conflict. "As I'm sure you're aware, there is a party tonight at the home, and unfortunately, there cannot be any cancelations, given that there are going to be delegates from several other countries present. I'm sure you can understand how much importance that this holds to the client?"

"Mhm." Natasha hummed lowly.

Great, Clint thought to himself. Now this guy'd pissed off Nat, and it had barely been more than five minutes since meeting him. This had to be some kind of record. Mind, he probably wouldn't bring it up with her until they were back in their small apartment, but he would not forget this record-breaking event.

They reached the car, and after piling in, pulled away. Natasha and Clint were both uncomfortable in their seats, being unused to feeling so open. Usually, their clients would send a vehicle that was actually reinforced somehow, so that there _wouldn't_ be as much of a chance at getting killed.

Yeah. Because odds of being killed were _always_ reduced when he and Natasha were involved.

-;-

Chaos.

Complete and utter chaos.

As the pair had suspected, there had been a leak in security, and before they'd been able to put an end to that bullshit, there were men dressed in black everywhere. Natasha had been separated from her partner within the first thirty seconds of gunfire breaking out, but given that Clint was one who tended to work better from heights, she wasn't overly concerned. What she was concerned about, however, was the lack of information that they had on the enemy. All she could tell was that there had to be at least a hundred of them, and that they all appeared to be heavily armed. Whether or not they knew that she was one of the agents brought in to protect the client remained to be seen, but for the moment, all she really knew was the thrumming of her heart and the twinging of her muscles as she drew her pair of guns from beneath her loose gown and began opening fire on the targets.

Meanwhile, Clint was otherwise occupied, holding back a good number of these rogue agents with just his bow and a set of throwing knives. He was thinking more along the lines of how he was going to not get seriously injured, considering that he'd literally brought knives to a gun-fight, but for the moment he was faring decently.

Pushing through the many layers of people, he gradually made his way back to the other room, where he knew Natasha would still be. Some kind of sixth sense told him that much.

However, just as he managed to reach the entrance of the room, there was a gigantic, shuddering explosion that rocked the foundations of the building around them, and Clint instinctively knew that it was going to crumble.

"_NAT!"_ he bellowed, just as a torrent of concrete and wood came down on top of the entirety of the room.

-;-

Natasha dizzily coughed, blinking her eyes several times in a futile attempt to look around her. Vaguely above her, she could make out the small, glittering lines of stars that stretched across the sky, and for a moment couldn't quite grasp why she could see stars when she was clearly indoors.

Flashing lights burst across her vision, closely followed by the familiar logo of SHIELD, and the redhead coughed again as she attempted to alert them to her position. Shifting, she hissed as every inch of her ribcage protested the motion, and she coughed again, earning a particularly bright light to shine in her eyes.

"We found her, Director!" someone called.

_Clint…where's Clint? _She thought tiredly as thuds rumbled in her ears. Something must have damaged them, she thought to herself, but then again, it could just be her.

"Hold on, Widow. You're going to be fine." Someone said soothingly before there was a prick in her arm and everything around her ceased.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: **Character Death, Angst, Darker Themes.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah. I don't own Avengers.

**-;-**

She woke in the dark, surrounded by beeping machines and the slow dripping of IV lines. It took several long moments- too long, in her opinion- to orient herself, before shifting under the thin medical grade sheets that always itched in the wrong ways, assessing how badly she'd been injured this time.

Maybe a couple broken ribs if she was lucky, broken wrist, fractured wrist, likely a concussion since she was already feeling generous, and the usual array of bruises.

Of course, this was all normal for someone like the Black Widow, and it only took a handful of moments, coupled with deft fingers, to remove the IV and stand, wincing only slightly as her bruised and cramped limbs stretched out.

Natasha glanced over the room, noting immediately that apparently SHIELD didn't deem her someone of interest- no guard detail, this time. Luckily enough for her. Also lucky was the fact that there was a pair of loose lounge pants and t-shirt left over the back of an all too boring standard black chair. It meant she could get out of her less than comfortable state and into something that was more suitable to her tastes.

Stripping off the open back hospital gown, Natasha pulled on the clothing and shifted experimentally, pleased that they'd managed to figure out that she preferred lounging clothing over jeans and a tank top. The last morons to do that had met with unfortunate ends to their careers.

…Actually, now that she thought about it, they _had_ been Stark's employees. Maybe the billionaire had had something to do with it. Highly unlikely, but possible.

"Well, you just don't stay down, do you?"

"Stark." She replied tonelessly. _Speak of the devil and he shall appear..._

"The one and only." The billionaire replied charmingly. "How do you feel? You were a bit of a wreck when SHIELD dumped you on my doorstep."

"I've been better." Natasha shrugged vaguely. "Where's Barton?"

The shift in Stark's mannerism was immediate. His shoulders hunched slightly, and his eyes flicked away from the redheaded assassin's own. The posture in it's entirely made her uneasy.

"Stark, where is Barton." She said again, firmer. Already, her mind was producing scenarios that ranged from likely to rare and back again. And none of them were good.

"Uh, about that…" Tony muttered quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Natasha, Clint…he didn't make it. You were the only one who made it out of that shitshow alive."

No.

Lie. It wasn't possible.

But looking at Stark and his reaction to the statement, she could tell that it was true. He wasn't lying. Clint was dead.

Clint.

Visibly, she was still composed, but inside her mind, everything was falling to pieces. Clint was dead. Gone. It just didn't seem real, as utterly ridiculous as it sounded. She'd always thought that other people who said it were morons, but now it was her saying it.

"You're lying." She said quietly. At her sides, her hands slowly clenched in an attempt to calm herself down, even if marginally. After several seconds, however, she felt her nails puncture skin, and knew that she was about to have an emotional breakdown. She knew that she had to get the hell out of here or risk causing a lot of damage to a lot of things, somewhere in the back of her mind. But at the moment, all logic was thrown out the window in favor of simply letting go of all of her control over her usual composure.

"I'm not. You should know by now I don't lie about this." Tony replied, just as softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. There was nothing you could do." She replied coldly.

Ignoring the flinch that the tone brought on, Natasha straightened her back and moved past Tony and out into the hall of the Stark Tower medical centre. Instinctively, she followed familiar pathways down to the elevator and then further into the depths of the tower, hunting out the three training rooms that had been designed and built specially for the pair of assassins.

Also somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that the rest of the team would no doubt seek her out and offer their own condolences, if not to stop her from harming herself. After all, the Black Widow wasn't exactly known for self control once she managed to get worked up.

Lying. Had to be lying. It wasn't possible. Clint was stronger and smarter than that. He wouldn't have been killed in something that minor. They'd made it through so much worse than that with far less serious injury. He was fine. He was alive. There was nothing wrong her. All just a nightmare. She would wake up in another twenty minutes and he would be sitting there with that obnoxious fucking smirk on his face and mock her for her bedhead or some other such thing.

"Natasha!"

Great. Just great. She already knew whose footsteps those belonged to, and if there was one person that she wanted to see the least, it would be Captain America.

Ignoring the call, she punched in the override code to the door and slammed it closed behind her, punching in her own personal code that would lock the door from the inside. And considering that Stark had reinforced the doors, no one was going to be getting in unless she let them. And _that_ was not going to be happening any time soon.

"Natasha, let me in!"

Like hell. She though to herself. She had no ties to the man. Hell, the only time that she'd ever even communicated with him had been during the whole Loki apocalypse. Since then, nothing. And she had no plans on re-kindling any communications with him now, of all times.

"Natasha, it's Steve."

"I know exactly who it is." She growled to herself, stalking over to the wall covered with weapons from all over the world. Eyes roaming over the massive collection, the redhead grabbed something that looked vaguely sword-like before turning on her heel and throwing it at the door. With a heavy _thunk_, it embedded itself in the thick metal and shook with the force of the vibrations before stilling, and silence fell from her irritating guest on the other side.

"Was that necessary?"

She was going to kill him. Slowly, and with great pleasure. Was the hint not subtle enough for him, or did she need to get a collection of throwing knives and stick them into his chest for him to get the goddamn message?

Snarling, she swung back around, looking for the cameras she knew were in the room somewhere. As soon as she found them, she grabbed the nearest weapon on the wall and threw it.

With a shower of sparks, the small electronic exploded.

She did this for the next five that she found before finally turning her sights on the simulation system. As soon as it powered up, she adjusted the settings to high difficulty and got to work, going after everything with savagery.

"_You know, I didn't peg you for the one who would have the breakdown." _Stark's voice said over the communications speakers.

"Stark, I _will_ kill you."

"_You think that you're the only one who happens to be suffering? You almost took Capsicle out with that sword thing." _

"He was irritating." Natasha growled. "As are you."

"_I try." _

"Unless you want me to hunt you down and rip you to shreds, I suggest you shut the fuck up."

"_Fine. We're all upstairs if you need anything." _

"I won't." the redhead promised, lunging after her next target.

**-;-**

"Capsicle, we've got to talk." Tony said as soon as Steve stepped out of the elevator. "You do realize that you can't actually reason with a pissed off Widow? She'll kill you."

Steve leveled a deadpan stare at the billionaire before shrugging. "Someone has to make sure she's alright." He reasoned.

"Dude. She just lost her partner. And is in denial, by the looks of things. Do you really think that you'll be able to get her to calm the hell down just by following her around when she clearly doesn't want anything to do with anyone?" Tony frowned.

"I agree with Tony." Bruce agreed, looking up from his cutting board at the counter, where the man was currently preparing to cook some dish or another. "You have to give her a little space, Steve. She's probably not going to come out of the room for a while. Plus, she needs to work it out."

"I can't do that." Steve replied stubbornly.

"Okay Steve. You go near her, she'll kill you. You can go right ahead and take that damn risk. I don't care." Tony finally huffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation before moving over to his liquor cabinet. "I'll just be over here with my well known friend Whiskey."

Steve and Bruce looked over disapprovingly, but after a long moment Bruce just sighed and shook his head ever so slightly. Apparently, it would be more effort to try to stop him than to just let the billionaire do what he wanted. Steve, however, curled his lip and turned on his heel, headed back towards the elevator.

"Your funeral!" Tony called after him.

As soon as the doors closed behind him, the pair shared a look, Tony's shoulders slumping.

"God, still doesn't seem real." He muttered.

Bruce nodded in agreement, though he didn't look up from his pepper. "I'm just worried about what this means for the team." The scientist said softly. "Natasha might actually snap and do something that she'll regret."

"I know. Jarvis is keeping an eye on her for me." Tony assured. "He'll let us know if she leaves the building or tries to hurt herself. Also if she tries to destroy my cars."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not." The billionaire shrugged. "But still. We're going to have a lot of work ahead of us if we want to get Natasha back on her feet after this."


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: **Character Death, Angst, Darker Themes.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah. I don't own the Avengers.

**-;-**

Steve Rogers was many things.

Patriotic, calm, political, able to hold his own in a fight…

But there was one thing that the famous Captain America was not, and that was good in assisting distraught women.

Natasha Romanoff being one such women.

After all, she'd just tried to kill him. Through a half foot thick reinforced steel door. With a sword. If that didn't scream upset, he didn't know what did.

But still, there was what Stark and Bruce had said- maybe he should let Black Widow let some of her anger out before trying to talk to her.

…No. He couldn't do that. She needed help, and he was going to help her.

Shifting his stance against the wall, the blond moved back down the hall towards the training rooms. More specifically, Training Room Two.

**-;-**

Her knuckles were bleeding.

Actually, her arms were bleeding too.

The room around her was all but decimated. Pieces of splintered wood and weapons surrounded her prone form, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Hot tears streaked across flushed cheeks, shoulders shaking silently.

Gone.

Gone, gone, gone, and there was nothing she could do.

"Natasha?"

"What the hell do you want from me, Rogers?" she snapped back, barely lifting her head. _God_, did he not know when to shut up?

"Can I come in?"

"No." she intoned.

There was a heavy knock on the dented door, then the sound of the man on the other side attempting to force the locking system on the door to snap. It wouldn't work, of course- this was Stark they were talking about, after all- but he was trying anyway.

"Natasha, let me in!" Steve ordered sharply from the other side of the door, anger in his tone.

Rage sunk into her chest, hot and dense and boiling.

Before she fully comprehended what exactly she was doing, her fingers slammed the code into the computer, and then she was pinning Rogers to the ground. Her bloody nails dug into every vulnerable inch of his skin, seeking out every nerve and muscle she knew would cause maximum pain, and when that was done, she began throwing heavy punches.

Steve was yelling beneath her, wriggling in an attempt to get away from the harsh abuse he was recieving. Despite being a super soldier, it seemed that even he wasn't immune to the Black Widow's attacks.

Finally, heavy metal was hauling her off of him, dragging her away from her punching bag.

Snarling, she turned, clawing at the metal of Iron Man's forearms before wriggling out of his grasp and latching onto the nearest limb. Every nerve straining, she threw the suit over her shoulder and into the wall before rolling her shoulder and taking a deep breath. Clarity returned to her mind, but there was nothing but a cold detachment lingering there.

"Leave me the hell alone." She stated icily before turning and stalking back into the training room, effectively escaping from the group of people that she really had no want to see or talk to. Slamming the door behind her, the redhead stalked over to the far wall, seeing no need to take the time to lock the door as she was fairly certain no one would dare come in. Other than Rogers, but she highly doubted he would be much of a nuisance for a while.

She'd really decided to go down the road of insanity, hadn't she?

The short bark of laughter came out of her throat before she could stop herself, and she couldn't stop for several minutes before her laughter turned back to sobs.

**-;-**

"I went to the store. For twenty minutes. And in that time, you're telling me that Natasha completely kicked Captain America's ass and did the same to Iron Man when you went to help?" Bruce asked as the small band of men stood in the kitchen upstairs. Well, Tony and Bruce were standing- Steve was sitting on one of the bar stools with a first-aid kit and tending to several gouges in his arms. After no reply came, the scientist sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"He started it." Tony muttered sulkily, looking very much like a toddler who had been scolded for taking the cookie jar. Crossing his arms, the billionaire leaned against the counter, sending a dark look over to Rogers. "And not only that, but we warned him that this would happen. Guess what, Rogers? It did. And I even managed to get caught up in it because I happen to have a conscience."

"I never asked for your help."

"No, but you almost got yourself killed by the unbalanced super assassin- who, by the way, single-handedly destroyed one of my training rooms- and to be honest, Rogers, you're starting to make me wonder if you're the one we should be worried about. You got a fucking death wish or something that we don't know about?" Tony snapped back.

"You practically gave me your blessing to get myself killed if I so desired, Stark!" Steve finally yelled back, eyes spitting sparks. "If you've got a problem with that, too bad!"

Tony growled lowly in his chest, looking thoroughly tempted to attack the blond, before he shoved himself off from the counter and walked stiffly over to the elevator.

"Sir?" Jarvis inquired as the doors slid open with the soft click.

"Don't." Tony snapped, stepping inside.

As soon as the doors closed, the billionaire punched the smooth metal wall of the elevator.

He couldn't believe all of this. It was completely and utterly fucking unbelievable, the way that everything was playing out. A day and a half and already everything that the group of people had gone through in the last eight months was being ripped out from under them. All of the timid friendships that had begun through everyone were quickly going to disintegrate if this type of behavior continued, starting with the Widow.

"Sir, are you sure you do not need me to call Miss Potts?" Jarvis asked.

"Positive. She and Happy deserve their weekend vacation." Tony sighed, leaning against the wall. "No, I just need to get out of here."

"Very well, Sir."


	4. Chapter 4

**Apologies for not posting sooner- I've been battling a little bit of writer's block the last little while. Luckily, it seems that with the right music, anything is possible. **

**Warning: **Character Death, Angst, Darker Themes.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah. I don't own the Avengers.

**-;-**

Bruce Banner was a patient man. Well, actually, he liked to think of himself as a patient. In reality, however, the scientist was about as far from patient as Tony Stark was from sober- very.

And if this completely outrageous behavior was going to continue in the tower, there were going to be several problems that would be arising very quickly in the near future- one of them being the Other Guy. And Bruce was fairly certain that no one was going to be doing too well if that happened.

He could understand that tension was high- it was to be expected, really, given the circumstances. But if he was going to be the one responsible for reigning in a bunch of superheroes, he was not going to last long. Especially not after this blow.

Bruce understood Natasha's pain, having experienced so frequently in his life, but even this was a hard pill to swallow. No one had thought that Clint wouldn't be coming back from this mission- no one had been able to anticipate the aftermath that would blow over all of them.

Even as Steve and Tony battled it out, all he could do was simply sigh and rub his forehead. He was tired. So very, very tired. And he wasn't cut out for this kind of life, even if it had been forced upon him. He couldn't handle the people that he'd begun opening up to slowly disappearing one by one. He emotionally could not handle it.

"Bruce?"

The scientist glanced up, broken from his thoughts, to see Steve's worried face closer than was probably appropriate.

"Yeah? Sorry, just…thinking." He replied tiredly, pulling out a stool and taking a seat. "Steve, as much as I hate to admit it, Tony does have a point. Are you coping?"

"What?" the blond jerked back, surprise etched into his face.

"I know you want to check on Natasha. We all are worried about her. But I think, given the circumstances, that we need to let her have a couple of days to herself before we try to approach her. She was closer to Clint than she was to anyone else- it's going to take longer for her to move on in her grieving process." Bruce said quietly, not turning to meet the super-soldier's gaze. He already knew that he would find betrayal there, despite his opinion already being made clear.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Doctor Banner-"

"Oh for Christ's sake, Steve!" Bruce yelled, turning in his chair to face the blond. "Are we really going to start all over again because I'm trying to keep everyone in this place as safe as possible? We're all grown adults, damnit, and it's about time we start acting like it!"

Steve looked startled- half, anyway. The other half was wariness- no doubt worried about the Hulk making an appearance- but Bruce didn't care. The only thing on his mind was how upset he was. He may not have known Clint as well as Natasha, but he would like to think that they at least had a loose, easy manner around one another.

There were several times recently that the archer had taken to trying to wake up before the reclusive scientist, perching in various places around the kitchen in an attempt to startle or scare Bruce, and they could keep up an easy banter while Bruce made meals. On occasion, Clint would even help- turned out he was pretty good around a kitchen himself, even if he wouldn't admit it to the rest of the group. Not including Natasha, of course. Those two knew each other more intimately than anyone else ever would.

And now, Clint was gone and Natasha appeared to be spiralling into a deep, dark pit that Bruce was silently wondering she would ever manage to get out of.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" Bruce snorted.

Steve looked momentarily somber, and for a moment, Bruce could see the remorse and grief that the man was going through himself.

"I'm coping. For now." The blond admitted quietly before meeting Bruce's eyes. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I shouldn't have-"

"Don't. We're all feeling high strung, Steve." The brunette replied softly. "I'm sorry as well. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you. It's no one's fault that this happened."

"I'm just worried about her. I mean, she's always had Barton as a partner. And now she's isolated down in the training rooms and we're just going to let her stay there?"

"Everyone has their own way of dealing with grief, Steve." Bruce pointed out. "When she's ready, she'll come to us. After all, there's nothing that can change the Black Widow's mind once it's set."

That managed to draw a short bark of laughter out of Steve, but even as quickly as it came, it disappeared, leaving the two men sitting on the bar stools and thinking about how everything could very quickly change before they knew it.

**-;-**

A day and a half.

So easily, things could get this fucked up without anyone even trying.

"Sir, are you positive you're alright?" Jarvis inquired over the speaker system as Tony tore through another red light. "Your total of charges has already been calculated as one thousand thirty-nine dollars, and I am almost certain that Director Fury will wish to speak with you at some point of your reckless behavior."

"I'm sure he will." Tony snorted, rolling his eyes. "Until that point, I'm focusing on getting as far out of town as I possibly can before screaming into the wilderness that life isn't fair."

"Am I correct in assuming that you are referring to Agent Barton, Sir?" The AI asked carefully.

"Yep."

"My apologies, Sir. I will continue charting a less populated route."

Silence fell in the vehicle, and it was only several minutes until Tony sighed heavily and pulled over to the side of a less busy street, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the steering wheel and focus on breathing deeply. There were emotions swarming around him- emotions that he hadn't felt in so long that it was almost new to him.

His heart felt heavy. Almost so much so that it was almost a physical weight tugging him towards the earth, and his eyes prickled with wetness.

Tony Stark cried.

It wasn't something that he thought he was capable of- not since the arc reactor and the beginning of all of this shit and becoming some kind of glorified superhero. But somehow, the loudmouthed archer/assassin had managed to worm his way into Tony's small little group of people that he would trust with his life if need be, and now that connection was gone.

He cried until he was sure that his eyes were red and swollen, and it wasn't until he croaked out Jarvis' name that the silence was broken.

"I darkened your windows as soon as you pulled the vehicle over, Sir." The AI replied, sounded very much muted in comparison to his usual tone. "Would you allow me to drive the distance back to the tower?"

"Thank you, Jarvis." Tony snorted, wiping at his eyes before reclining into his seat. "Take the wheel."

"Of course, Sir."

**-;-**

She was exhausted. There was almost no energy remaining in her body to be angry anymore. All of her anger had been taken out on the room around her- the remnants of some kind of war that she wanted nothing more than to forget.

Now there was simply a deep sinking feeling- a sense of regret, if anything, setting into her bones, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed and never come back out again.

But there was nowhere for her now. No one to share the space with, nowhere for her to sleep. She was almost entirely a stranger in Stark's home, despite being put onto the Avengers team.

"Jarvis?" she asked, flinching at how broken her voice sounded.

"Yes, Agent Romanoff?" the AI replied immediately, tone gentle.

"Could you direct me to a room upstairs, if possible?"

"Of course. Sir had a floor renovated for you to stay as soon as you were added to the Avengers. Shall I direct you to it?" Jarvis replied.

"If it's not too much trouble." She said hoarsely.

"Of course not. If you'll make your way to the lift, I shall take you to it immediately."

"Thank you."

Pulling herself to her feet, the assassin wavered on her feet- no doubt thanks to the shallow wounds on her hands and wrists, before making her way over to the door and pulling it open, allowing herself to shiver as the cooler air from the hall snaked past her.

She knew where the elevator was, thankfully, and she made it there with no incident. Apparently Captain America had decided that it was wise to avoid the Black Widow when she was so tightly wound. As she thought of it, Natasha sighed regretfully. She hadn't exactly been in her right mind not all that long ago. She owed Steve an apology for her blatant attack on him. But until she felt she had one hundred percent control over herself and her emotions, it would be the most logical choice to simply avoid everyone else as much as possible.

"Miss Romanoff, your floor." Jarvis said smoothly, effectively breaking the redhead from her thoughts as the doors slid open to reveal a rather large expanse of floor, the furniture scattered around marking it as a living space.

Natasha hesitantly stepped into the apartment, silently marveling at the care and craftsmanship that she could see in everything around her.

"Is all of this for me?" she asked.

"Yes. Also, you are the only person authorized on this floor, unless you wish to change your settings. It is the same for all of the other living spaces in the tower, and currently you have no restrictions, other than Sir's personal lab in the Research and Development area. And only because Sir is protective of his projects. Otherwise, you are permitted to go anywhere you wish."

"This is too much space." She protested quickly.

"Miss Romanoff, this is your floor. Sir has installed your own personal weight room, weapons storage room, full library and study, as well as a master bath, master bedroom and fully stocked kitchen, as seen to your left." Jarvis stated with the faintest traces of amusement. "I believe that you will find that this is the correct amount of space."

For an instant, Natasha was touched by the effort Stark had put into this place for her. All of this was for her.

"Can you thank Stark for me?" she asked, finding a lump suddenly in her throat.

"Of course. Enjoy your afternoon, Miss Romanoff." Jarvis stated before falling silent.

Natasha sighed, already finding herself relaxing at the dark blue walls and white accents, before padding through the doorway of the living room and kitchen space to head down the hall to where she assumed the bedroom was.

Luckily, her assumption was correct, and before she could take in the rest of the room, she was crawling into the large bed and immediately falling asleep, drained and not willing to let her mind mull over everything that was wrong with her life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Apologies for not posting sooner- I've been battling a little bit of writer's block the last little while. Luckily, it seems that with the right music, anything is possible. **

**Warning: **Character Death, Angst, Darker Themes.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah. I don't own the Avengers.

**-;-**

The next morning, Natasha woke to find herself drenched in a cold sweat with no memory of what she'd been dreaming of. That didn't surprise her- it wasn't an uncommon occurrence in the past, and it continued to happen now. It was just one of the many things that added to the baggage that she carried on her shoulders every day.

She slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, running a hand through her damp red hair as she breathed deeply and fell into a breathing exercise that she hadn't found a need to use for quite some time.

She was losing it.

For so long, she had been the prize of SHIELD's eye. Ruthless, emotionless. She'd barely even managed to get along with…. Before all of the emotional crap that had inevitably happened, anyway. Before she'd learned how to laugh. How to feel emotion. And it was all because of him that she was sitting here, feeling utterly helpless because of those goddamn emotions that were stirring in her chest. She tried to hate him for making her feel, but found that she simply couldn't. Natasha simply could not pin the blame for all of this on Clint.

"Miss Romanoff?" Jarvis inquired, jolting the woman out of her thoughts.

"Yes, Jarvis." She returned quietly, no inflection whatsoever in her voice. That was partially due to the sheer exhaustion that was coursing through her veins- not entirely because she was shutting herself down and operating with minimal everything else.

"Would you have me send food to your room, or would you like to go to the kitchen and retrieve it yourself?" the AI returned politely. "I can send one of the others up with something-"

"No, I'll go myself." The redhead interrupted. "Is there anyone else up?"

"Just Mister Stark, but he has been in his lab for the last several hours and will most likely remain there for several more. Would you like me to direct you to a different floor as a precaution?"

As much as Natasha would have liked to say that she wasn't avoiding anyone, she found herself agreeing to go to a different floor to find food. She just didn't have the energy to confront anyone, seeing as what had happened the day before.

So as a light-footed assassin made her way to the seventy-third floor kitchen to retrieve something small to eat, it was the same time that another member of the tower was moving around- something that Jarvis had purposefully neglected to mention. After all, Bruce Banner was more than capable to hold his own against the emotionally compromised woman who was being redirected to 'his' personal favorite kitchen for breakfast.

**-;-**

Bruce was something of an early riser. He didn't like to admit it, but that was just the way that it was. Living on the run tended to do that to him, and nowadays wasn't exactly an exception. Half the time he expected to be ripped out of this small piece of happiness that he'd managed to find himself possessing and thrown back to the wolves, but he knew that Tony had long since taken care of that little problem. Turns out that having friends in high places (sometimes literally) had its occasional benefits.

Like being permitted to stake out any floor as their own was one such benefit.

As he stood in the elevator, still wearing his baggy dark purple lounging pants and a matching loose t-shirt and wiping the sleep out of his eyes, Bruce couldn't help but feel that there was something going to happen. Now as to what, he couldn't exactly put his finger on, but he would find out soon enough.

Jarvis had ensured that.

The doors opened, revealing the dimly lit kitchen and the dark, rainy sky out of the windows surrounding the space, and the curly haired scientist sighed in contentment.

"Good morning, Doctor Banner. Would you care for some tea this morning?" the AI inquired politely.

"The usual please, Jarvis." Bruce yawned, running a hand through his hair as he did so.

"Right away, sir." The AI replied.

"Thanks Jarvis." Bruce thanked again before making his way over to the comfortable armchairs that he'd ordered from one of the catalogues Pepper had bombarded him with. (Something about needing someone else's input in what went into the tower, but he couldn't be sure considering that it _was_ Pepper).

A prickle on the back of his neck was what alerted him to the fact that he wasn't alone. And considering he rarely got this feeling…

"Natasha."

The redheaded woman stared back at him emotionlessly from her place at the elevator, not moving an inch despite the fact that she'd been noticed. One of the unfortunate side-effects of living with someone with highly attuned senses, she supposed.

"You're welcome to stay." Bruce encouraged softly. "I promise I don't bite."

"It's not you I'm afraid of." She replied automatically before stiffening. She half expected the man to begin demanding answers, but instead, the scientist graced her with a lopsided smirk.

"Well, you've come to the right place if you've got demons." He replied dryly. "Feel free to leave if you'd like, I'm not going to stop you."

To further prove that point, he stood and moved away from her, going to retrieve his freshly brewed tea that smelled strongly of lemon and something else she couldn't quite identify.

On the one hand, she could run, flee, hide and be the coward she knew she was being. But on the other hand, this was Banner. He was, for the most part, completely harmless and probably the least judgemental of everyone currently residing in Stark Tower. Because on some deep level, he understood exactly what she was going through.

Warily, she took a step away from the elevator, waiting until Bruce had vacated the kitchen before stepping into it and resuming her search for food.

Bruce, on the other hand, was keeping an eye on the redheaded assassin. To be honest, he hadn't really expected her to stay- more of a flight situation than anything else- and he couldn't blame her one bit. He knew plenty about loss to grasp what she was enduring in that highly barred mind, and knew enough not to push the matter. Which was probably why he'd argued so strongly with Tony and Steve. Those two were the ones who were a more upfront tactic team- they didn't really know how to act other than charge headfirst into this situation and try to bully Natasha into cooperating- which was not exactly the best idea on their part. He preferred the tried and true method of waiting and seeing what would happen- sure, sometimes it had it's less than appealing consequences, but the benefits greatly outweighed the risk.

Natasha didn't end up coming any closer than the barstools at the counter, but personally, Bruce thought that it was a huge step considering the short time period that she'd had to deal with her grief. Perhaps he was simply the lesser of two evils, but either way he was preferring this to the near bloody scene he'd come back to witness the aftermath of the day before.

"Thank you, Banner."

Bruce smiled faintly behind his mug of tea.

"You're welcome, Natasha." He returned. "Feel free to join me whenever you like."

Somehow, he had a feeling she just might take him up on that offer.

**-;-**

By the time that everyone else was up- or in Tony Stark's case- going to bed, Steve had almost worked himself up into another fit as Natasha once again avoided everyone.

Bruce didn't even find himself peace in the workshop, as the blond continued to follow him there to finish his 'discussion' that was more of a rant than anything else. The fact that it was mostly centered on the fact that Natasha had moved herself into the floor that Stark had customised for her and then proceeded to block everyone out of it almost had the good Captain frothing at the mouth, and Bruce couldn't fathom why on earth the man was working himself so far up from this. One theory was that this was his way of dealing with grief, but then again, he could be wrong. But that was all that Bruce had, so for the moment it would have to do.

"Steve, as much as I appreciate you telling me your concerns about Natasha, she needs her space. She doesn't need us butting into her every move- it will do nothing but provoke her into retreating further away from us in the end. I also believe that we mentioned leaving her be yesterday- something that you seem to be having difficulties comprehending. If Natasha wants to join us, I have no illusions to say that that is exactly what she'll do. Until then, be patient. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do." Bruce broke in, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Steve said nothing, although Bruce thought he might have heard something extremely unpleasant leave Steve's lips as he closed the door behind him.

Bruce rolled his eyes. He'd learned a long time ago to simply ignore the things that the others would speak about him. It meant he had a lot less negativity to deal with in the long run.


End file.
